Dark Deity
by rotburn
Summary: AU. There is something lurking just below the feet of ignorant children for the past millennia, Harry happens to be that unlucky boy who stumbles upon it... or is a piece of himself being summoned? Vol/HP (slash). Darkfic. Warnings posted every chapter and separate URL.
1. entry

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

* * *

**I decided that there needs to be more dark stories with this pairing, so here I am writing one:**

**This is an experiment...**

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Warnings: Rated M for a reason.**

**For MA scenes there will be a URL to a separate site; to stay on FF's good side and appease my dark sense of taste.**

* * *

**Entry**

* * *

_To whomever procures this journal,_

_I found a passage... usually something so simple and utterly normal should not even spark much of interest in a world full of magic. Every day people come across countless halls, corridors, and pathways, but this one... this one is special. _

_As I said, I found a passage and it is hidden behind a door._

_No, don't sigh like that in exasperation, let me introduce you slowly to these fading thoughts like dying flowers as winter peeks around the cycle of seasons. Let me paint a picture in the landscape of your mind upon the very momentous discovery I made once upon a time ago, before I lost my innocence, my humanity, and my soul. Before I became a Dark Lord._

_Oh, did that capture your attention? Is the feeling of the soft aging leather in your hands summoning you? _

_Does the moist parchment with the coppery scent of blood lull you into a state of bewitchment? _

_Are you perhaps enchanted enough to continue reading my lopping handwriting scrawled across these bound papyrus pages?_

_Well then, I shall have to warn you now: there is no "happy ending" to my story. This is not a fairy tale where star-crossed lovers defeat their aggressors and are fated to become beloved rulers whilst bringing the Universe to its knees. No, this is truth and reality, smothered with the poisonous undercurrents of cosmic horror. _

_I have traveled countless worlds. Learned dangerous magics. Witnessed startling discoveries. Ruled alien races. Wooed forgotten deities. Stolen powerful artifacts. I have been behind the veil and back again, all it seems for naught. I have met men and monsters with equal power, invoking similar designs of domination mirrored in myself and I have come out as the victor._

_I cannot express this melancholy feeling -with only human words to help describe the complexity of it lingering within this flesh of mine, for it is far deeper than despair or hatred or even the dreadful clutches of true fright. I cannot even begin to scratch the surface of its endless depth, yet I will try to recreate this same emotion subtly throughout the telling of my biography. Maybe, as I painstakingly recount these deliciously painful and horrifyingly wonderful events you will begin to understand me in all of my madness._

_And maybe that is what I truly wish in the last uncertain hours of my existence, as I sit on the edge of another rotting world with blackened skies and acid seas... a spelled quill in my hand and papers fluttering in the gaseous winds carried over the desolation of mangled bodies still struggling in a lost battle between life and death. I wish to be understood. For my choices of course and maybe, just maybe, I wish to be forgiven. Wish to know that it isn't my fault that I have destroyed trillions of lives for the selfish yearning in chasing down a whispering dream. An aching and tainted love..._

_So let me stroke this dreadful painting on the canvas that is my skin with my blood as the pigment, tears as the soluble, and hopefully you can see the same beauty in the horror of my life as I do._

_Where am I? Oh yes-_

_I found a dark passage curving downward into the bowels of the earth beneath Hogwarts, hidden behind a door that comes and goes..._

* * *

**End.**

**This was just the prologue in entry style, the rest of the story will not be in First Person view, nor will it be in italics so rest assured if that is getting on your nerves.**

**The next post shall be longer and appear later on today.**


	2. decay

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

* * *

**There is some disturbing detail towards the end, but not enough to be considered tasteless for a rated M.**

**You'll notice a lot of differences from this story to the real Harry Potter. It's AU, I'm not going to go into great detail about his past or his character in some sort of summary. If you just read the story it'll bring you up to speed as the chapters go and plot unfolds. **

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Chapter Warnings: Cursing, self-mutilation.**

* * *

**Decay**

* * *

Harry glares at the surface of the table as he rubs it down with a small handkerchief in one hand and a bottle of polish in the other. A solemn face stares back, gaunt and sickly, looking as if a plague grips him. It makes Harry wince to see himself in any sort of reflection which he passes. He would give anything to be growing out of soft baby skin like the irritating Parkinson, or even to be blessed with sculptured bones like that prat Malfoy.

Unfortunately for him and disheartening for his father... Harry always appears as if a disease is ravaging his form.

For frightening reasons as well, food it seems does not sit well in his stomach. The small amounts that make it safely down his gag-reflex lies like a solid lump in the acid pit, waiting for later to travel back up his trachea in the stalls of the males' lavatory. Not only is food difficult to keep down, it is difficult to actually put into his mouth and swallow as well... extremely so.

Just to make sure he receives enough nutrients so that his body doesn't waste away, Harry has to visit the Hospital Wing twice a day to take the necessary potions.

Maybe if it is just the food that unsettles him, Harry can pretend to be normal like the rest of the students, but it isn't so.

One part of the body is indeed linked to the rest of it. Where there is a problem that arises and cannot go away, soon more appear until they build up in a dreadful crescendo to a pain-laced orchestra of physical, mental, and emotional turmoil.

His starving state makes him susceptible to powerful head-colds in the summer and devastating flues in the winter. He is easy to bruise and hard to heal without outside help. Sleep is a luxury that is induced on most nights when the crawling under his skin and feverish sweats are too much to bare, and often Harry finds himself sleepwalking in an attempt to escape the dreams of his mother's dying screams that haunt him. Finally, body locked in some sort of existence between life and death, Harry must endure the disturbing illusions which occur around him, signaling the mental break down of a ailing child tottering towards the coming teen years.

_'It's all really such a vicious cycle.'_

Many, including his own father, believe that it is a curse in which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named imparted on him that fateful night years ago. A curse that keeps Harry bent in starvation, weak in magic, and tired with every breath that enters and leaves his shaking form.

Healers, with no cures for Harry's ill health, had once told his father that he may not last through the passage of childhood to adulthood. That his body is far too weak and that it's a miracle Harry is still alive with only stubborn resentment to fuel him. It's incredibly hard on young Harry, but even worse when he catches both his father and godfather staring at him with barely hidden sorrow.

It makes him grit his teeth in anger.

He hates the stares and the pity looks people have given him all his life, which only seemed to double when he got to Hogwarts this year. Even the obnoxious Malfoy heir would take it upon his duties to try and cheer him up every now and then, yet keeping him at a healthy distance and not hinting towards any sort of friendship, how _annoying._ But Harry can count on one person to never waver at his thin teetering body...

Harry peeks up through the fringe of his unruly hair. The man lounging behind the mahogany desk at the head of the classroom feels the sudden attention of Harry's gaze and looks up to pin him with dark onyx eyes. Harry jerks his head down to escape Professor Snape's sneer. An ironic smirk twitches at the side of his lips, he can always count on the Potions Professor to despise him. Even if that hate stems from the resentment towards his father, Harry can feel the rising power of resolve build in him.

_'Don't give up! Don't let the world devour you! Don't wither away like everyone expects you to!'_

Pulling his mind away from dark thoughts and placing them solely in the cleaning of another table in the classroom, Harry makes sure to work as slowly as possible so that he may-

"Your time has ended _Potter_. Go join the rest of the students in the Great Hall."

He bites his bottom lip to stifle the groan. Dinner... already... he had hoped the _Dungeon Bat_ would have been so involved in that blasted book that the clock would tick away and Harry wouldn't have to face the world. Yet Professor Snape is intensely precise and impeccable at both time and judgment. For as Harry collects his things bitterly and opens the door to leave, that dull dry tone stabs him on the way out.

"Do try to _eat_ something Potter. I'm not interested in watching you lose focus and forget to counter-stir your cauldron again..."

Heat threatens to induce Harry into a fever just thinking about the explosion in Potions earlier that day which landed him in cleaning detail before dinner. He swallows the thickness in his throat, "Y-yes Professor."

Shutting the door, Harry stumbles down the hall berating his sore pride.

_'Obsessively- perceptive- monotonous- devious- bat!'_

With more interesting words that jump into the forefront of his mind describing the Potions Professor, he reaches the Great Hall and slinks inside.

No one takes even a moment to peer at him, those who don't send him pitying looks usually just ignore his existence completely. And he resents them, all of them.

Harry grips his bag tightly and sneakily takes a seat at the very end of the Slytherin table. A few students shift away with natural instincts surely telling them that this individual may infect them somehow. Maybe they are right, he doesn't seem to have any redeeming Slytherin qualities at all; no looks, no charm, no pureblood status, and barely any magic at all. There is the Potter wealth, but his bloodtraitor lines discredit him in their eyes. Also the fact that his mudblood mother had created a charm upon him that was able to destroy the last known Dark Lord who happened to hail from Slytherin himself... to his housemates he is only a worthless insect. They didn't even find it worthwhile to harass him since his life expectancy seems to limit him in all fields containing the future. If he had beauty, charisma, strong magic... but he is a joke.

He should have known joining Slytherin wouldn't be as glorious as the hat made him to believe it to be, but he had been feeling delirious and angry towards his father at the time and decided to make the man pay for sending him to this far off academic environment instead of being home-schooled. What is the point of attending if people don't even believe he'll survive anyway? Harry can still remember the shock on his father's and godfather's face in joining Slytherin, hell _everyone_ had been shocked. Then people got over it, and in time forgot completely.

Frowning, Harry sighs to himself and almost coughs at the noxious fumes steaming from the food before him. Now comes the part that he dreads the most every _damn _day. Eating. To him, no matter how simple or exquisite food may be, it's the exact opposite.

Trying to play it safe, Harry tentatively picks up an apple and peers at it. Nothing yet, he nods to himself and brings it to colorless lips trying to simultaneously hold his breath and take a bite at the same time. Teeth break the apple's skin with a crisp sound and Harry forces himself to swallow a bite without even letting his tongue run over the texture.

Taking another bite, he makes his first mistake in choking on it, he spits it onto his plate. His second mistake is looking at it. The blood drains from his face... black rotten mush rests on the pale dish, he glances at his hand and decides that it's his third and final mistake. The apple is oozing around the edges of where he has bitten it, yellowish puss that begins to blacken and white squirming maggots inch across the fruit, the apple falls from his hand and rolls across the table.

Instantly now, he can feel the tiny bulbous bodies wiggling against his gums and crawling upon his teeth in the sludge-like sweetness of the apple. He sputters into a napkin and trying to keep from throwing up in front of his classmates. Sweat breaks fresh from pores and shakily Harry reaches for a glass of juice. He downs the drink and grimaces as what is supposed to be cranberry flavor to normal people only tastes like a concoction of liquid decay.

_'Why is it just me? Why doesn't anyone else experience this too?!'_

But he knows why, it isn't the food, it's him... and the so-called _curse_. Torn with disgust, he watches as the children stuff themselves with the seemingly harmless food, a wave of sickness washes over Harry, he slumps off the bench quickly to dash away.

Not a single person bothers to ask him what's wrong, no one seems to care of his horrible state. He _hates_ them.

Once again, back in the corridors, Harry decides a trip to the Hospital Wing is in order. Pattering along the sleek marble floors, up interchanging stairs, and past chattering paintings, Harry silently pushes open the Infirmary's door and stands swaying on his feet before Madame Pomfrey's desk.

Startled the matron looks up, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline. "So soon Mr. Potter?"

He winces for the second time under the stare of a knowing adult. "I... couldn't get anything down. So I came straight here."

"Indeed." Madame Pomfrey tries to appear scolding before climbing to her wry feet and crossing the room to the cabinet on the back wall.

Harry watches through his glasses as she chooses several pre-made potions on a ledge marked with his name. Many large bright-colored bottles rest there waiting for Harry alone to devour over the course of a continual twenty-four hour wheel. On the same ledge towards the right corner stands a few smaller vials containing darker mixtures. A cold shiver dances down Harry's spine every time he sees them, but he can't help be drawn to look with fear and morbid interest every time. Those vials are only for emergencies to his worsening condition. Only to be used when he falls into a full body fit; either his body shutting down, or magic turning on him.

So far only one has been forced down his throat, that was at the beginning of the year during Flying Lessons. His weak magic had a fit connecting with the broom and back-fired. It was also the same moment when a helplessly entranced Draco Malfoy decided Harry should be checked up on once in a while so that he doesn't have to -quote: "witness the disturbing ministrations of ones' horrendous demise". Who knew the pureblood heir is squeamish at the sight of blood and suffering?

_'It's actually a bit funny...'_

Needless to say, Professor Hooch made him the official supplies boy since he can't even use a broom properly. Thank the Gods and Goddesses he can still hold a wand even if it tends to ignore him sometimes.

"Here you are." Madame Pomfrey hands the boy three bottles and a nutrient muffin.

Face scrunching at the muffin, he gives the woman a pleading look. "Can't I have the liquid kind?"

Her serious face hardens, "You didn't eat, you need something solid Mr. Potter. If you really cannot get it down I'll magic it inside your stomach, but I want you to _try_ eating it first. Your saliva glands must keep functioning correctly or you'll have another problem on your hands."

Grunting, Harry nods and is steered to a seat in the infirmary whilst being told not to leave until everything is "settled".

Quickly he munches down the muffin, cringing at the moist feeling of molding bread before downing the otherwise tasteless potions. Taking potions seems to be the most vexing and best part of his day. If he can deduce what water tastes like from what his godfather explains, than potions to him equal to water and water in general is like acid. Is there even a reason why? Probably just his mental process all fucked up from the _curse_ people whisper about. Sometimes he likes to think his brain is similar to muggle technology and that some arsehole got inside and rewired everything. It would also explain the other problem he absolutely _refuses_ to tell _anyone._

Placing the empty glass beakers on a side table, Harry stands and nods to the woman. She sends him on his way as she ushers another student inside. Passing by the teary-eyed Ravenclaw with bushy hair, he can only roll his eyes at the burn she's sporting on her arm and leaves with a little more strength on his feet. Potions, how wonderful, if he can only actually create them well enough for himself and Potions Class maybe his Head of House won't be as bitter towards him... another insubstantial dream.

Down the hall. Within a bathroom. Inside a stall. Harry pulls out the long needle he stole off Madame Pomfrey's surgical tray as he left her to dote on the Ravenclaw. Eying the silver tool he hesitates only once before placing it on the smooth skin were his wrist is visible. Green orbs watch as he pushes the needle, the skin indenting and then breaking, but a hiss never leaves his mouth. Because there is no pain, none at all, it simply doesn't hurt.

Angry, he digs deeper, blood begins to drip as he works the needle side to side viciously trying to feel something, _anything_, as the tool makes the flesh open and squelch. Something does begin to happen, a feeling growing from the numbness of his toes and rising... His heart throbs in a quick unsteady pace and the front of his pants tighten in building pressure. Deeper and deeper the needle goes until finally, a loud scrap catches his breath.

The needle scratches across his bone, vibrating up his arm and throughout his body. A gasp escapes his lips and his warm forehead meets the cold stall door. He can feel it... the _pleasure_. Overwhelming and addicting. It seems as if a hours flash by as the euphoria settles and vanishes leaving behind a pleasant thrum. Matted hair clings to his glistening neck. He catches his breath noting the sticky sensation between his legs. The needle slips from wet bloody fingers to clang against the tile floor. Harry slumps onto the stool and ignores his glasses as they topple away too. Both hands cover his face as a whimper cuts through his heavy breathing. His voice desperate, "What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?"

* * *

**Chapter End.**

**I'm sure you all have tons of questions. As the chapters keep coming you'll get your answers... yet they might be replaced with more questions.** **_Snicker._**


	3. clack

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

* * *

**This chapter is short, but I strive for quality not quantity.**

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Chapter Warnings: Small dose of despair.**

**Key: **_'thinking' -flashbacks-_

* * *

**Clack**

* * *

The bed feels irritatingly lumpy, soft surface only serving to make him lie silently glaring through blurry orbs up at the dark colors of the canopy. Thoughts churn over and over in Harry's head for the millionth time, questioning his illness and the fading future slipping from his hands every day. A fear begins to claw at the inside of his ribcage, it steadily increases its tormenting pace.

_'I'm going to die...'_

The simple and horrifying thought jumps into his restless mind. Death, actual death. Final, unforgiving, nothingness... the end of his existence.

Harry's body contorts viscously, he turns his head into the feathered pillow and screams, fingers clenching the fabric in terror.

For all the suffering this short life has offered so far, he does not want to die, not now, not ever!

Huffing into the pillow, Harry's tries to soothe the mental agony.

_'It's okay. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine!'_

So why are there tears leaking from his eyes? Choking, Harry lets out a tired sob, muscles easing until he falls utterly quiet and still again. For a moment he tries to forget his distress, tries to push the pain into the far reaches of his mind-

_-Not Harry! Please no not Harry!-_

He rips the silver blankets off and stumbles out through the emerald curtains that shimmer in the moonlight. Knees slam on the stone floor as his legs give out. There is no pain, where nerves send signals through an intricate system, it splits off track somewhere and only pleasure floods his body. That _twice-damned_ curse must have truly scrambled up his brain! Who in the world can stab themselves and only feel an elation of sexual stimuli, besides those considered clinically insane?

"That's it..." A hushed laugh slips out from him, "I'm insane..."

_'But surely this isn't insanity? Not yet.'_

Slowly Harry climbs back onto both feet, ignoring the damp blood sticking to the sleeping pants. Dark splotches barely appear through the burgundy material. Tugging on the black shirt, Harry covers the bandage on his wrist subconsciously as he blinks through the fuzzy darkness at the three other beds in the Slytherin dormitory. Still dreaming peaceful little dreams of political schemes and victorious duels, how quaint. Too bad he can't join them, instead Harry fumbles at the nightstand to place circular glasses upon his nose to make searching through the trunk at the foot of the bed easier. He drags out his invisibility cloak.

A gift from his father in celebration of receiving a Hogwarts letter. The man couldn't give him any of the things he really wants or needs, but count on the elder Potter to try and induce a little bit of mischief here and there. Trying to smile at the memory, it only melts off his face and Harry runs the pads of his shaking digits over the silky fabric. A glance at his own bed and Harry decides there's no chance for sleep tonight, so he may as well use it for a stroll. It takes him another minute to hunt for his holly wand tossed amidst the cooling sheets before slipping on the cloak.

Harry disappears from the bedroom and tentatively makes his way out, passing more doors and finally creeping by the black lounge chairs in front of a crackling fire. The stone wall leading out of the Slytherin Dungeons shifts and he leaves quickly before the green serpent stitched into the banner over the hearth can fully wake to realize that a student is leaving.

Thinking about what Professor Snape would do to him makes Harry cringe as he stumbles along the damp corridors.

Sound is amplified and twisted in the lower levels of the castle. During the day you can hear whispers echoing, and during the night the rushing currents of the Great Lake; among other hundreds of strange noises that seem to have no particular origin. Harry finds these sounds utterly ghastly and fascinating at the same time. Listening to the settling of the walls and moisture dripping from the ceiling...

"I can _hear it_..." An excited pitch echoes from down the hall, raising the hairs on Harry's arms.

Halting almost immediately, Harry strains his hearing. All that reaches him is the shifting air and the low curious sound of _clack, clack, clack, clack._

"I can hear it!"

Jumping, his nerves now on edge, Harry inches forward where the hall splits off towards the stairs leading up into Hogwarts. No one is around, but the "clacking" noise is issuing from the end of the hall where the darkness is deepest. A dreadful and primitive sound that makes his stomach drop and breathing grow shallow, but it stops just as abruptly.

"I can, I can, I can! Ha-ha! Oh, can you _hear_ it too?"

His heart beats rapidly in his chest as he takes one step forward at a time, into the arched area with the stone staircase. The candles flicker and paintings remain silent. Harry moves along the wall back into the shadows on the other side of the hall where only a deadend resides.

"Oh! Oh! _Hunching, crunching,_ _munching!_ Its hunger is so endless~! Singing, humming, lulling! It's searching for its temptress~!"

Peeking into the only room at the end of the corridor, Harry happens upon the strange sight of Peeves doing a jig above the Bloody Baron's head. The poltergeist seems to be having a raving good time by the look of his devilish smirk, but the other ghost naturally tunes him out.

"Can you hear it? Can you hear it?!"

"Oh I can hear it you madman..." Seethes the Bloody Baron, his tone rumbling and irritated. "But I don't understand."

From his angle, Harry can see the Baron's side profile, the dead man is scratching his beard staring downward. Curious, the young Slytherin sidles up against the frame of the door trying to get a better look at what the ghost is glaring at. There's nothing on the floor besides dirt and cobwebs.

_'I don't see anything.'_

Harry moves to enter the room just enough to sweep his eyes along the wall where the door resides, when several things happen at once-

_Clack, clack, clack, clack._ The sudden queer noise sets off an immediate action in both himself and the ghosts;

A fearful gasp jolts from Harry. He is easily drowned out by the sound of Peeves shrieking in half-fear and half-delight, rolling around in the air with his hands covering both ears. The Bloody Baron only takes several steps back, dead eyes wearily watching the floor. Harry would be thankful for Peeves' louder reaction, but his mind is reeling at the moment.

_'But there's nothing there!'_

_Clack, clack, clack, clack. _It's fainter this time, but it still literally drives Peeves up the wall, clawing off several abandoned paintings.

"Down, down, down, down! Deep, deep, deep, deep! Can't get out! Can't get in! What to do? What to do?" The horrible rhyme only serves to make Harry shudder as Peeves throws himself to the floor, jerking on the Baron's misty robes. "Down there! It's down there!"

Snarling, the Bloody Baron thrusts Peeves off of him. "I know little fool! Something is down there..." He whirls around, as if afraid to keep his back unprotected and for a startling second Harry wonders what can scare someone who is already dead?

"But this is the lowest level in Hogwarts. You simply _cannot_ go deeper."

Hissing and spitting, Peeves waves his arms wildly like an impatient child. "If we can't go down, let's go up! Bloody Bastard! Up, up! Up~!" Again the poltergeist tries to drag the thoughtful ghost away, until finally the Baron deems that the sound has finally retreated.

"Very well, let us go away from this accursed place lest we find ourselves trapped waiting and listening to it for eternity."

The two specters drift across the room and through the back wall, the singsong voice of Peeves drifting in through the stones, "Hunching, crunching, munching! Its hunger is so _endless~_! Singing, humming, lulling! It's searching for its _temptress~!_

Standing rigid against the door, Harry stares at the empty spot on the ground. Chest rising and falling, his flushed body prickles with adrenaline. A dull pain pulses near the crown of his head. Something warm tickles his forehead, Harry reaches up to scratch at it. To his dismay he jerks his hand down in surprise... staring at his own blood.

The young Slytherin finds himself darting back down the halls in fright, the "clacking" sound echoing in his mind.

* * *

**Chapter End.**

**Creepy no? It'll only get worse from here.**

**Spice and Ran! Thanks for being the first two to review. Adore the support and hope you enjoy the story as it unfolds.**


	4. feud

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

* * *

**I'm not going to say what days I'll post chapters or anything like that, I've noticed I'm horrible at promising things. Just keep an eye out and I'll do my best to keep this story on the first page of the M Vol/HP Filter.**

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Chapter Warnings: Cussing**

* * *

**Feud**

* * *

Shouts of laughter and taunts fill the air as mid-September's chilly winds make a wonderful day for Flying Lessons. Well for everyone except Harry that is.

Standing beside the bleachers, Harry stays out of the windy gusts that try to whip him off his feet. Winter doesn't bother the young Slytherin like it does the other children, but it's more dangerous for him. Where the average person can feel the stinging bite of the cold and realize they need to put on extra protection, Harry has to guess at the temperature by watching other people bundle up so he doesn't make the mistake and catch pneumonia or frost bite. Just because he can't feel pain or the extreme sides of ice and fire doesn't mean his body can withstand them.

Glowering at the happy faces racing on brooms above him, Harry has to stay on the ground. As the equipment handler he is in charge of the school brooms that can be signed out by those who don't own one or for those who want to try a few risky moves without breaking their personal besoms. Harry also stands guard in making sure the Bludgers don't escape the chest, which amuses his thoughts about releasing them and watching some of the students get throttled. Madame Hooch is on a broom weaving through the Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Harry cocks his head to the side and entertains the vision of her getting hit by an imaginary Bludger and falling off. It serves to improve his foul mood.

His mind though, keeps drifting back to last night and his midnight escapade. The scene plays out in his head a few times, how Peeves and the Bloody Baron had acted, their obvious fear... He can still hear that awful "clacking" noise. Fresh and repeating in his mind, Harry wonders if he can ever forget that disturbing sound.

"Hey you!"

Harry turns to the voice with a scowl on his face. Three Gryffindor's come tromping towards him, elbowing each other and annoying him with their overzealous happiness. The one in the middle, with red hair and a great amount of freckles makes a beeline to him. "My name is _Harry._"

The redhead stops short, a look of hesitation crosses his face at the Slytherin's clipped tone. Seamus and Dean are oblivious behind Ron, still yammering about different feints and moves. Ron wants to prove to them he can indeed mimic a Grizzle Sweep invented by the Heidleburg Harriers in 1989 with a partner, but he doesn't want to accidentally break his own broom in the process. His mum would kill him! "Yeah, hand me a broom would ya?"

With a sigh, Harry holds out his hand. The redhead only stares at it in confusion. Irritated Harry growls at him, "You have to hand over _your_ broom."

"What?! I'm not giving my broom to some slimy Slytherin!"

Seamus and Dean look up in question to their friends sudden shout.

Frown deepening, Harry sucks in a breath. His vision dots with black as anger rises in his body. "It's a trade you curd! You have to switch out yours for a school one, it ensures that you don't _steal_ it."

"Who in their right mind would steal a crummy school broom?"

"I don't know! But if you want to use it you have to trade it."

"Fine!" Ron hands over his broom with a glare. "When I come back there better not be even a _scratch_ on it."

"Right." Harry snatches the ugliest broom he can find and holds it up.

"Seriously? Give me a better one!"

"Why? So you can break a better broom with whatever stupid maneuver you're trying to act out?"

"Why you-" Ron pulls back his fist, but Seamus snatches him.

"Oy don't do it Ron. He's only tryin' to make you flip!"

"Just take the broom." Dean agrees, eying a few Slytherin's who land on the ground not but a few yards from them.

The two boys glare at one another until Ron snatches the broom from Harry's hand in defeat. The redhead goes to turn away when he catches the smirk twisting onto the other boy's face. Heat erupts in his chest and fists clench, but Seamus and Dean have their hands on his arms so he improvises. "You know... you should join the Slytherin Quidditch Team."

Harry's smirk falls off his face in confusion.

A grin tugs at the side of Ron's cheek seeing the flash of hope in those eyes, "They could use a lackey to carry their equipment."

The Slytherin grows dangerously still. His nostrils flare and jaw tenses, but otherwise Harry remains silent. This is the first time someone outside of Slytherin has said more than a simple line to him, and it just so happens to be an offensive statement. Figures.

Receiving no comeback, the Gryffindor's glance at one another with mischief. They never witnessed such a quiet Slytherin before. The idea of getting back at the otherwise snarky and pompous bastards fills them with courage to continue.

"If you lick the dirt off their boots they might let you touch a Snitch."

"Maybe if you play_ Find The Snitch_ in their pants you'll get a prize." The boys snicker at the perverted meaning.

"You could wax their balls!"

"You could polish their brooms!"

The jokes getting more debauching as they go, sending the Gryffindor's into fits of laughter at the otherwise blank expression on Harry's face.

Trust a Irishman though, to take it too far, "You can be their glorified _bitch."_

Dean chokes in surprise, Ron and Seamus roar with laughter. The dark skinned boy glances up with an apology on his lips, but the look on the Slytherin's face makes him take a step back instead. The snakling doesn't appear to be happy, yet he doesn't seem mad either. In fact, there aren't any emotions on that sickly white face, just two emerald eyes staring them down hollowly. Dean can see themselves reflecting in those orbs, not laughing like they are right now... only corpses standing on their feet. Then the dreadful moment is broken-

"Well if it isn't the _weasel_ and his posse of bloodtraitor friends." A gleeful voice cuts through the Gryffindor's fun like a sharp knife.

Four sets of eyes turn in time to witness a devious blonde strutting over to them with two thugs following at a brisk pace closely behind.

"_Malfoy..._" Ron spits the pureblood's name like a curse word, drawing an amused grin from the arriving boy.

"Well yes, that's my name isn't it? I'm so glad you remember." Comes the daunting purr. Those calculating orbs flick over the scene, assessing the situation.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. Just leveling the playing field. Never knew you Gryffindorks were brutal enough to gang up on someone."

"Yeah? Well we've been taking notes from your _lot_, and it seems like "ganging up" is perfectly acceptable."

"Our lot?" Draco's lips quiver, "There's nothing wrong with taking examples from your betters Weasley, you just made one mistake..."

Ron growls low as the blonde leans in dramatically.

"You don't mess with us snakes unless you want to get _bitten._"

"You white haired son-of-a-" Again, Dean and Seamus latch onto Ron as Malfoy easily rocks backward on his feet, Crab and Goyle hunch forward in anticipation for the redhead to try and land a punch.

"Run along _weasel, _you'll need some practice on that broom if you want to try and beat me at anything."

Harry watches, detached, as the Gryffindor's stomp off, plotting whatever thick-headed lions consider revenge. Pranks most likely... he levels his eyes on the prat Malfoy who is smoothing his robes as if invisible residue is left behind from the Gryffindor's.

Lifting his pointed chin, Draco lets out a exasperated sigh. He shoos away his cretins. "Don't look at me like that, it's... unsettling."

Finally blinking, Harry turns away. The strange vibes of utter calm and drowning anger evaporates from him only to be replaced by a sneer.

"Much better."

"Go away Malfoy."

"Oh? After coming to your aid you're going to get all pissy with me?"

"I never asked for your help." His eyes narrow on the blonde. "I can handle myself."

"Really?" Draco steps closer, a sneer mirroring the other, "Because last I saw, you were being verbally whipped and simply taking it like some slow-witted buffoon. Slytherin's don't take defeat lightly, you better find some sort of pride Potter, because if the other houses don't eat you alive -trust me when I say that Slytherin will."

Harry sucks in a breath, rage building inside; towards the Gryffindor's for their assault, towards Malfoy for being right, but mostly towards himself for being so feeble. As if summoned by the tension in the very air that helpless soul-sucking sensation comes from nowhere. A dizzying feeling of weakness begins to slip into his bones making him light-headed. He sways on his feet. Forcing himself not to fall, Harry grits his teeth and hisses out, "I can handle myself."

Grey eyes take in the wobbling legs, shaking hands, as well as the messy hair and gleaming sweat, but mostly Draco notices the burning Avada-colored orbs shinning with determination. "Really?"

Heart thudding in sudden excitement, Harry realizes just who he is talking to; The Slytherin Prince. Until now he hasn't really given any of the students much thought, let alone the nosy Malfoy heir. If there is anyone in his house that can improve his standing and help with ranking then it's Draco _bloody _Malfoy. "Let me _prove _myself."

Like before, two males stare at one another. This time without confrontation or hatred, this time... with understanding and conviction.

"Fine..." Draco drawls taking a step back, "The Slytherin Dungeon tonight, after "Lights Out"."

A grin slowly breaks across Harry's face as he watches the blonde saunter away. Finally a chance to make himself become something more than the sick-kid.

_'This is it!'_

With a laugh, Harry throws down Weasley's broom and kicks it to the side. He can't wait for tonight. No matter what Malfoy throws at him he'll be ready. He simply will _not_ lose, because the truth is; he can't afford to.

* * *

**Chapter End.**

**Kind of sad Harry doesn't have any friends, but I think his sour attitude is a playing factor against his personality- that and the fact he doesn't have a positive personality. It's a bit interesting writing this idea of Harry Potter who seems to have a kindred heart similar to Severus Snape, but we have to remember he is bitter about life in general.**

**lolol1991: Woot! I love reviews, I love long ones even more. I saw your review and I got all happy and giddy. You sound like you're hooked and that's the best feeling a writer can get, when he/she realizes they've snatched another avid reader. Hope to keep you throughout the story!**

**Spice: You are already my regular, I can tell. May the chapters get even stranger and darker as they go!**


	5. task

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

* * *

**Huzzah! Getting great feedback. If some of you have noticed I tend to edit my chapters several times even after I post them. Nothing major, just spelling errors and glaring anomalies that annoy me to no end. If you happen to catch a few mistakes, they most likely won't be there the next or following day.**

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Chapter Warnings: Cussing**

* * *

**Task**

* * *

Harry tightens his fists, trying to keep the shaking to a minimum. He's excited, his cheeks are actually rosy from the heat of adrenaline flooding his body.

Whatever the task is, he'll complete it without a problem. Doesn't matter if it has anything to do with magic or not, Harry will gladly induce himself into a seizure just to receive even an ounce of notary in his House.

Under his school robes he's hidden the Invisibility Cloak and has other odds-and-ends stuffed in random pockets. Even going as far as wearing his favorite black and white stripped Inching Socks, which dry immediately when splashed with water and can grow up past the knees if exposed to extreme cold or dampness, he hope's to gain some "luck" from them. Harry isn't sure what's going to happen, but he wants to be prepared.

Pacing the small bathroom for the umpteenth time, Harry decides that it's "now or never". He exits the loo adjoined to the dormitory shared with a few of his year mates. The beds are empty, no doubt everyone is in the Slytherin common room aka Slytherin Dungeon. Letting out a breath and sucking in deeply, the young raven haired male opens the door and makes his way to the meeting point.

The Slytherin Dungeon is cast in emerald, the usually burning heath is out and instead there are candles lining the walls, magical green flames flickering up the sides. A silent group of Slytherin's are standing in a semi-circle with their hoods drawn, keeping their features unrecognizable. Shadows are cast around the room from their bodies, the shades contorting in a menacing dance. The Great Lake's aquatic noises ring off the stone walls and the Slytherin's banner is awake. Hissing in the background the snake slithers in the rippling fabric. Amused but otherwise silent, the reptile is in no immediate threat of snitching on the students. For now these actions are warranted, because this takes precedents; passage, tradition, and ceremony. Tonight is night for trails...

Harry steps out from the darkness of the staircase and stands within reach of the group. Giddiness bubbles under his skin ready to break out and howl with joy, but he suppresses the feelings and remains impassive.

A hooded person steps up and yanks down their hood, Malfoy. His grey orbs are like silver mercury shinning in the dark, that pale hair and face almost glowing under the green light. There is something almost otherworldly about the blonde-

_'Like a godling in the flesh...'_

"Thought you'd never show up Potter." Draco grins easily at the other.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry squashes useless thoughts that have no reason to be flitting around his head at this moment. He nods in acknowledgment.

_'Focus. Use the benefits his position guarantees and move on!'_

Malfoy swings around to address his peers, "Everyone of relevance or importance has gathered here tonight to send off one of our own on an expedition that will raise his status in our ranks. If he _succeeds_ then there are no doubts that he is one of us and deserves the respect that wearing Salazar Slytherin's colors provides. If he _fails_ then his place is in question... he will be an outcast among us, until such a time he is allowed to prove himself again."

Murmurs sweep along the rows as the Slytherin's whisper about Harry Potter's fate.

A wave of apprehension shudders through Harry as the weight of magic in the air settles around them. He swallows thickly and trains his eyes back on the blonde as the boy steps up to him.

"As the "Patron" to this _Passage into Prestige_, I offer my support whether he passes or fails." Hand out, Draco grips the raven haired boy's palm tightly and pulls him forward with a harsh whisper, "Do _try_ not to make me look like a fool!"

Harry's eyes narrow and he lets out a low grunt.

"The neutral ground is held. Who has chosen to be Harry Potter's "Ally"?"

A second hooded figure approaches to take Malfoy's right side. Blaise Zabini removes his hood and reaches to Harry, "I stand with you for this "Task"."

Their hands clasp and Harry blinks as the male speaks quietly.

"But if you fail, I will not support you again."

He only stares as the boy glides away. The first traces of doubt are beginning to tingle in the crevasses of his mind...

"The positive ground is held. Who has chosen to be Harry Potter's "Enemy"?"

The last and third individual sidles up on Malfoy's left side. Pansy Parkinson sneers as she flops her hood down, raising her hand for Harry to take, "I stand against you for this "Task"."

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Harry takes her hand and bends his waist, kissing the top of it. He feels wretched even though formality demands him to treat the awful girl with esteem just for the blood running through her veins. On the way up their eyes lock. Parkinson's face splits into a wicked grin, something sinister gleaming in her eyes.

"Don't get too settled on an "easy win" darling. You never know what's _going_ to happen."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." She winks and then slinks off to mirror Zabini beside Malfoy.

The niggling feeling in his subconscious expands with increasing dread. He knows for sure that Parkinson has altered the "Task" already, he will have to stay on guard and ready for anything now. With a sour frown Harry straightens his spine and forces his attention on the young blonde heir.

"The negative ground is held. All witnesses have been chosen and agreed upon through the ceremony. Now begins your "Task" Harry James Potter."

Silence reigns and Harry waits for a heartbeat before fidgeting in anticipation and uncertainty as he watches the Slytherin Prince dig in a pocket.

With a flourish Draco whips out a long green ribbon, holding it high above his head for the others to see. "A Hunt! There are three ribbons hidden on Hogwarts grounds, one from myself, one from Zabini, and the last from Parkinson. Each ribbon has a hint that will lead you to the next one. You must find them all and bring them back before First Bell for classes. If you cannot find them by then, you fail. If you are caught, you fail. If you receive help, you fail. Do you accept these terms?"

Arm outstretched, Harry takes the starting ribbon from the dramatic blonde, his eyes blazing with purpose. "I do."

A faint "click" occurs on the outside of their conscious, where the swirling magic falls into place and the "Task" is accepted. Potter is bound by magic now and must use time to its full advantage. Draco Malfoy nods to the frail boy as the passage leading out of the Slytherin Dungeon opens. Harry Potter, his childhood celebrity hero is in the mercy of his hands. Never has Draco thought that _the_ Harry Potter is tantalizingly dark _and_ unfortunately weak. He should be ignoring the dying boy like the rest of Slytherin, but how could he? There is something about the raven haired boy that many can't see yet, something hidden that has yet to burst forth in that skinny frame. Draco is sure that soon, very soon, Potter will come into his own power and when he does the Malfoy heir has decided to be on his side. Beside that, he had idolized the other since he was a child... Harry Potter the babe who defeated the Dark Lord and in turn destroyed his father's dreams giving Draco a life a freedom away from pain and despair only for the hero to grow up with both. If there is anything the blonde can do for the other in a silent "thank you", it is this; helping the other fit in.

Glancing back at the group, Harry steels his nerves and leaves them behind as he enters the halls of the sleeping school. The stone wall groans closed behind him and he is now standing alone.

The air is chilly and damp, a pale light seeping down the halls from some distant source. Harry looks down at the ribbon in his hands. White curving words appear, the first hint: _This is where I observe. This is where I eat. This is where I sit above and watch you from my seat._

_'There's only one place everyone eats... I'll start my search there.' _

Harry shoves the ribbon inside his school uniform and tugs out the Invisibility Cloak, wrapping it around himself. His form disappears from view and he sets off at a brisk pace towards the Great Hall.

Maybe it's coincidence or just true luck, but nothing strange or irregular crosses the twisting path on the way there. The halls remain quiet, paintings wheezing in slumber, dust swirls in odd patterns in the moonlight streaming from slender windows. A scent of lamp oil and marble polish is strong, as if the lower surfaces have been wiped down in the short amount of time that students have bedded down. Hogwarts is simply too large to clean every nook and cranny, so it's understandable that most untouched rooms or the top highest levels might be overlooked.

For a moment Harry wonders who does the cleaning... surely that degrading Mr. Filch doesn't. The sour man unable to use even an ounce of magic only seems to be more of a nuisance to everyone than anything. On that thought, Harry peers both ways in front of the Great Hall doors, hoping that the aging squib isn't stalking the halls on this level. He'll have to make this quick.

Ducking into the large hall, Harry stands rooted to the spot. Deep inside his chest a tingling begins as he roves his eyes over the empty benches and tables. Walking further in, he twirls around and the sensation rises causing a smile to tug at his lips. Only a second later he recognizes that he's feeling _powerful_. In a place that is normal bustling with life and students is completely silent and for now completely _his, _to do as he wishes and pleases. Giddy, Harry looks back down at the ribbon reading the message again. Green orbs immediately look up to the faculty table which sits on a raise tier.

_'That has to be it.'_

Hurrying across the hall, Harry takes the step up and ducks underneath the table searching for the ribbon. He starts at the Headmaster's seat, there is no ribbon there. Harry checks the next one down, but still no ribbon. The flash of green catches his sight on the other end and he crawls towards it trying not to accidentally let his Invisibility Cloak fall from him. Dangling from under a seat is the ribbon. In the back of his mind Harry notes that it's tied to Professor Snape's chair. So obvious.

He reaches out and unties it, his arm exposed when a high "squeak" startles him. Head jerking to the side two large eyes blink back which startle him.

"House Elf!" Harry hits his head and tumbles out from under the table, the cloak slipping off as he scrambles to stand.

The surprised creature points an accusing finger at him. "It be a student outta bed!"

"Shhh!" He lunges forward to grab the elf and silence it, but the thing jumps away.

"Student! Student out of bed!" It shouts and turns, running down past the tables and out the door.

"Blood and Bones!" The young Slytherin hisses. He looks around on the floor, but the Invisibility Cloak doesn't appear to him. "Shite!"

Quickly, having to leave behind the most valuable prized belonging, he dashes through the hall and into the large foyer. He can hear the echoing of footsteps from the lower floor coming closer. No doubt that elf has alerted Filch and the man is on the way. Heart slamming in his chest, Harry runs to the stairs and climbs one upward.

"Where is it? Where's the student?" Filch appears from below, sliding on the marble floor with great gusto. There's a lopsided grin on his face as his beady eyes glare too and fro. One of the House Elves from the kitchen had spotted a student and he is going to catch them! Finally catch one of the rotten children! With a grunt the man takes off again towards the Great Hall...

On the banister, Harry watches through the bars as Filch sprints the opposite way. Slowly Harry stands and tip-toes up the staircase. He wobbles violently as the stairs change direction, moving higher and letting him off on the sixth floor. In the shadows of an alcove, Harry curses to himself for having lost the cloak so soon. Hopefully, towards the end of his search he can go back and retrieve it before morning.

With a sigh, the young boy holds up the second ribbon to read the next riddle: _I shield, I protect, I defend, yet I am hollow inside._

Blinking in confusion, Harry glares at the words as his thoughts tumble around in his head. He slumps against the wall and stares ahead of him, letting his green orbs roam the hall thinking.

_'Shield, protect, defend... but hollow?'_

Across from him, Harry glowers at his own reflection in the polished armor of a knight. The stress induced wrinkles slip away as both eyebrows climb high into dark strands. It finally sinks in and the boy grins with a sudden chirp, "Aha!"

Rushing to the suit of armor, Harry inspects it thoroughly, but he doesn't find a ribbon. His smirk dies prematurely and he lets out a groan of irritation. "Of course it's easy to _guess _what it is! That jerk didn't say _where_ the ribbon's located."

Luck seems to leave him at odd moments. Now he'll have to scour the whole school checking each and every knight he comes across. Did he even have time for that? Then there's the issue with Filch hunting for him as well, while he stands around without a cloak on. Harry smothers his face in both hands.

_'I'll just have to check the upper levels first and then head down one floor at a time...'_

"Right." The determined Slytherin shoves the ribbons back in his robes and yanks out a two-way mirror given to him by his godfather. The mirror is initially created so he can communicate with the one his father owns at any time during the school year. There's no way he'd try to get a hold of his father right now, but he needs a way to traverse the halls without detection. Since his cloak is gone for the moment he'll have to use the mirror.

Stealthily, Harry traverses the sixth floor corridors using the mirror around corners, and then finally bolting past the Gargoyle leading up to the Headmaster's office. It's at the end of this hall, by a statue of a funny dressed wizard, that another staircase leads the raven haired boy to the seventh floor. This hall is even darker than the others curving around a corner and the end disappearing into black. Inching along, eyes and ears alert, body trembling with frailty running purely on adrenaline, Harry takes careful steps.

He almost jumps out of his skin when several snorts come from a painting just ahead of him. As he passes, Harry peers at the at the group of trolls snoring in a dozen or so seats holding awkward looking instruments on their person. A strange sight to behold...

-And there almost towards the blackest dead-end of the corridor is a knight in shinning armor with a green ribbon tied to the hilt of it's sword. With a burst of excitement, the grinning Slytherin sprints to it and almost slides right into the large metal man. Hand seizing the ribbon, green orbs glimmer in barely contained joy, until he sees the hint left behind: _Meow..._

Nothing more, nothing less.

Realization dawns on him.

_'Parkinson! That little wench!'_

The female cut-throat Slytherin diffidently has it out for him. There's only one cat that is famous and vicious enough to guarantee that Harry will get caught and get into trouble. Filch's cat Mrs. Norris.

"Shite!"

"Shite indeed Potter." A female voice proclaims, delicate hand falling on his shoulder.

His heart leaps into his throat and then begins to burn in hatred. Turning to fully snarl at the girl behind him, the words die on his lips as he realizes just who it is. No, it's not Parkinson who he originally thought it to be... it's someone much worse, "G-Gemma!"

Gemma Farley, the Slytherin Perfect. Cold steely eyes glare down at Potter, "I heard from a little bird that there would be someone wandering this floor after curfew." A sneer lifts the sides of her lips as she drags him away from the knight, "Let's go see what Professor Snape has to say about this..."

It's just instincts really. He sees Professor Snape as a role model... seriously! But uh... that doesn't mean he wants to be in deeper waters with the Dungeon Bat. So as soon as Farley spoke his name Harry's fight-or-flight instincts kick in.

"Hey! Get back here this instant!"

Harry is rushing down the corridor towards the corner when the most peculiar thing happens-

His robes catch on a handle. Normally this wouldn't be so shocking since he is a klutz, which is why he makes it a point to be extra careful, but this isn't simply a random event. His robes catch on a handle to a door that magically appears from nowhere, jerking him clean off both feet and slamming into the floor. If he is anyone else, Harry is sure that he'd be rolling around on the floor in pain. Instead the bash to the back of his skull sends a spray of pleasure thrumming throughout his body and causing a quiet 'mew' to slip from his lips.

Gaining footsteps cause the boy to bolt to his feet. He tries to rip his expensive robes from the handle, when the sound of Filch's voice echoes from the staircase.

"Who's there?!"

Panicking Harry tears the robes off his form.

The door opens...

On his left Farley is approaching fast, on his right Filch is also apprehending him. Harry goes forward through the door and tumbles down a flight of stairs. Sprawled out on a landing to another steep set of stairs, Harry looks up to see Gemma Farley slipping through the door before it shuts. Everything goes dark.

_Click._

"What the..." Gemma mutters, palming the handle to the door. Nothing happens and then the knob disappears from her hand.

Loud banging rises on the other side, the muffled sounds of Filch yelling things like _expelled when I catch you!_

Harry's breathing is heavy. The pleasure dissipates, but there is something dull pulsing in the back of his brain. As if an invisible string is tugging at him, trying to pull him down the next set of stairs.

A faint _lumos_ is cast and Farley blinks from above with her wand held out. She eyes him wearily and comes stomping downward with a nasty frown on her face. "I'm not sure how you did this Potter, but you better get us out of here."

Said boy blinks, hands patting around him before snatching up his glaces. "Well... I have an idea."

She stops, an eyebrow rising, "And that is?"

"We go down."

The Slytherin female glances into the darkness, "No way. Not a chance Potter."

"It seems like the only logical way to go if the door has vanished."

"Vanished? What in Mordred are you talking about?"

Harry doesn't answer her. He stands, smoothing out his shirt and pants, green eyes grow wide, "Shite! My mirror! … Oh Blood and Bones, the ribbons!" His robes are no doubt on the way to Filch's office. "No, no, no, no!" Cursing and hissing, Harry starts down the stairs ignoring Farley's protesting calls. He has to find a way out and get his things back. There isn't much time left until the sun starts to rise.

The two Slytherin's find themselves flummoxed as they come to another landing... and _another_ set of stairs. Then after that, it repeats, going deeper and deeper down. Twin lighting charms bob as they both descend into the earth far below the levels that the castle can go.

If it is not for his frantic mind set on getting his things back, Harry might recognize the foreboding nature of his descent. His thoughts are elsewhere as he mindlessly rubs the sensation building at the front of his head.

Then, finally, the steps end.

Standing in small cavern, they timidly walk out with wands held ready for some sort of trap. Nothing happens. On the opposite side of the dripping space where stalactites and stalagmites have formed monstrous shapes, they come upon a circular stone portal. A language, old and Celtic in origin is scrawled across the massive door.

Gemma runs her eyes over the structure that seems solid and unmovable for probably thousands of years. "So... any bright ideas on how to open it?"

Yet she receives no response. The young male is just standing there ahead of her, body tense and eerily still. "I said-"

"Can you hear it?" Comes Harry's whisper.

"What?" Gemma growls in annoyance. She listens and hears nothing besides their own breathing.

A tremble in his voice, "Its teeth..."

She has no idea what he is talking about, and it doesn't matter. If they can't get out this way they will need to go back up the stairs and try beating on the wall. No way in Seven Realms is she going to be trapped in such a place with measly _Potter_ as a companion. "Potter!"

The Slytherin Perfect reaches out to shake the male who whirls around, a look of true fear in his eyes.

"Its clacking its teeth together..."

* * *

**Chapter end. **

**Nice long chapter with lots of irritating mishaps for our hero. Can't Harry catch a break? Next time is a heavy MA scene gore/rape, there will only be a link posted for those of you interested in reading it. Until then monsters...**

**lolol1991: You are an insightful individual, now I really want to give you a story you'll be struggling to guess what happens next to.**

**Spice: Ron tends to be a bit 'bull headed' I'm not exactly against his character, I'm just not 'taken' with him either. There's a slight thing between Draco and Harry, a one-sided that won't really be explored due to the fact that Dark Lords don't share if you catch my drift.**

**kimchiwon: Welcome to the story! I agree with you about those fanfic's that get more attention than they should, but 'sigh' what can we do but write? Anyways I'll totally support you and your story. I like where it's going. In chapter one that's actually Harry all grown up, this story is basically his biography happening right before our eyes. In this universe our young hero is exceedingly dark but still innocent and will unfortunately be stripped of that very soon. Looking forward to another chapter to your own work!**


End file.
